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Remembrance Day – Why I am proud to be Canadian

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The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month is reserved in 52 nations of the Commonwealth, mostly territories of the former British Empire, as Remembrance Day or Armistice Day.

And here in Canada, all Government offices, most businesses, all the large stores, virtually all enterprises except some restaurants and pharmacies are closed today. This is what makes me so proud to be Canadian, that much of the country shuts down to honour the Canadians who died in, and the veterans of, the Great War 1914-1918, Second World War 1939-1945, Korean War 1950-1953, Persian Gulf War 1990-1991, Afghanistan War 2001-2014 and the many UN Peacekeeping missions. And honour them we do.

Thousands turn out for services at the local cenotaph or legion and, in Ottawa, tens of thousands attended the National War Memorial service where dignitaries laid wreaths, followed by other organisations and, of course, the Silver Cross Mother. The Silver Cross Mother is chosen by the Canadian Legion from the ranks of grieving women who lost a child serving in the Canadian Forces.  This year she is Colleen Fitzpatrick of Prince George, BC. Her son was wounded badly in Afghanistan when stepping on a roadside IED. He died back home in Edmonton, Alberta, two weeks later.

Commentators are saying this year that, as they have been watching the Ottawa ceremony over the past two decades, the interest and crowds are getting larger and younger, with many of the millennials attending. If this is so, then Canada has much of which to be proud.

Were I a cynic, I would say that all the businesses shut down just to make a long weekend: that is false, however, for in other years when Remembrance Day does not fall on a Friday or Monday, the same stepping back from day-to-day business in order to revere and honour those who sacrificed themselves and the veterans who served their country is shown.

Which is why I am so proud to be a Canadian.

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I like dining……more gourmet than gourmand

I like dining in. I like dining out. I like dining.

The word I have used above is “dining”. It doesn’t say food; it doesn’t say snacking. While I like food, I am not much of a snacker and my food has to be delivered in relatively civilised and refined places. I am not one who will buy a hamburger at a food truck and eat it standing on the street. I am one who might buy a hamburger in a well-known chain of restaurants and sit down and eat it there. My preference, however, is to enter a restaurant with or without a reservation and be seated by the maitre d’ in order that I can then “dine” well.

Or, I do not have to ‘dine’ in a restaurant, as it could equally be in a home, could be ours, could be someone else’s, and dine on well-prepared food. Food that has been chosen by someone and prepared by someone for the relaxation and refreshment of others.

I like to think of myself as a gourmet rather than a gourmand. Perhaps a number of decades ago I might not have minded the moniker of gourmand, but not in recent decades. The difference is that I no longer eat when I am full, see food and continue to eat, as is the habit of a gourmand. Gourmet, epicure, gastronome, bon vivant might more appropriately be applied to me, although bon vivant sometimes includes one who enjoys parties. That’s not really me, although once I am there at a party, I seem to enjoy myself. It’s the getting there that is ofttimes a challenge.

Let me provide an example of fine dining I recently enjoyed very much.

It has been a few years since we last dined at Gio, in Halifax, so we thought it was about time that we returned there. A daughter and her 11-year old son were staying with us, My Beloved and I were all going to the Royal Nova Scotia International Tattoo and Gio, being a short walk from the BNS Centre, was a good choice.

IMG_20150702_170201Christy, who took our phoned reservation, was at the reception desk when we arrived. She very cheerfully greeted us and proved to be a delight throughout the entire two hours of dining. She was very knowledgeable about the menu items and the wines.

After preliminary drinks of Kir Royale for our daughter, Pinot Grigio for My Beloved, a sort of Virgin Singapore Sling concocted by the barman for our grandson and a bottle of 2012 Cotes du Roussillon VillagesIMG_20150702_170219_hdr – a Grenache, Syrah, Carignan blend – by Carmel & Joseph for me, although I, of course, shared it with the ladies after they finished their preliminary drinks, we looked around. Everything impressed. The ambiance was attractive and totally different from that which we remembered several years ago. And now splendid! Bright, cheerful and well-spaced tables, although we were seated at a booth at a large window. And beautiful lights.

IMG_20150702_173412_hdrWhile we were waiting for the drinks, Christy brought us an amuse bouche, cucumber tomato gazpacho with arugula pesto in IMG_20150702_174747_hdra bowl.

As appetisers, our daughter chose the poutine with polenta fries. She found the poutine gravy and cheese tasty, but the polenta fries disappointed: nice and crisp on the outside, but as soon as they were touched by fork or mouth, they crumbled under the crust. She assigned an A for trying, but a C for result. We all sampled the fries and agreed with her summation.

IMG_20150702_174718_hdrOur grandson and My Beloved chose the seafood chowder and declared it was full of different seafood, including several mussels. And was deliciously creamy. It was definitely not a stand-up-your-spoon-in-it sort of chowder.IMG_20150702_174656_hdr

I elected to sample the catfish tostada, which was pan-fried catfish on toast with refried beans, guacamole, jalapeno crema, and a grilled lime on the side. I thought I had made the best choice, but that’s only my opinion.

15 - 16Christy was at all times attentive to our needs and brought us some focaccia bread for dipping with some olive oil and Balsamic vinegar. The bread was excellent and obviously homemade.15 - 24 (1)

Following the plates being cleared, Christy appeared with yet more complimentary items, three for the adults and one for our grandson. They comprised a very tasty little shotglass of sorbet to clear the palate and the grandson downed his as if it were a shot!

15 - 26The menu is very extensive, the Chef being innovative and adventurous, and it had taken us all a little while to decide on our mains courses. However, our daughter chose the Beef, seared tenderloin  and tempura cheek, with pancetta-stuffed roesti potatoes, Brussel sprouts, and sauce chasseur. Although it was all very tasty, she said she just couldn’t get enough of the potatoes.The tenderloin was tender, and just cooked and rare – just as requested! Our daughter prefers her Brussels sautéed: however, these were steamed.

Our grandson and I both ordered the Elk, which came having just been seared, leaving it IMG_20150702_181907_hdrtrue blue on the inside and double-wrapped on the outside with bacon. It was exquisitely tender, tasty and not at all gamy. The accompaniments were beet and Beemster (a cheese) pierogi, lemon and caraway crème fraiche, cabbage, elk sausage (small pieces in addition to the tenderloin), oyster mushrooms and sauce soubise (a sort of onion sauce based on Bechemel). Everrything made my mouth water for more.

15 - 30My Beloved chose another appetiser as her main, the Wild Boar, cornmeal crusted tenderloin, with corn relish, blue cheese egg yolk and apple walnut butter. She declared it to be very good.

Christy again appeared with some complimentary extras comprising a pineapple-orange soda soufflé for each of us. Wonderful server and wonderful service.15 - 31

IMG_20150702_185146_hdrThe grandson had to have some dessert, of course, and selected an ice cream concoction with wafers and seven or eight miniatures of the soufflé.

It was a superb dinner, made all the better an experience, as our daughter treated us to this feast fit for a Gourmet.
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It’s almost a year now, but love of her stays in my heart

How we grow attached to our cars! They are inanimate objects made up of thousands of pieces of metal and plastic or, if you are lucky, wood, too. Yet they are sexy. We caress the steering wheel, we stroke the hood, we don’t let anyone smoke in them and, yes, we even talk to them, gently, sometimes angrily. And we love them.

Thousands of pieces of metal and plastic were brought together in a Chrysler plant some time in 1997 and  the sum of all those pieces was delivered to a dealer near our home.

I fell in love with her one summer day.

There she was, in all her silvery glory in the dealer’s yard, her lovely eyes appealing to me. Yes, we knew at once that we were meant for each other. She had a sliding roof and all sorts of electronics. I weIMG_20140513_132252ll remember the salesman taking My Beloved and me out to her and pressing the key to unlock her. “Oh,” he said, “there must be something wrong with the alarm, for it should have sounded when I pressed the key.” “Not at all, ” responded My Beloved, “He’s already found out how to silence that while you were putting the papers together.” If there’s one thing I cannot stand with alarms, it is that they make rude noises when you approach or leave the car doors. I consider such noises impolite and a lady, such as she I had just purchased, should never have to utter such rude sounds.

This 1997 Chrysler LHS (then Chrysler’s top of the line auto) had no name and we could not come up with one which seemed to suit her. Until, a few days later, we drove across the continent from Nova Scotia, to pick up My Beloved’s sister and husband at Seattle airport and immediately on to Victoria, British Columbia, for our son’s wedding. We had crossed into Maine, passed through Hartford, Connecticut, the Adirondacks, by-passed Chicago, and entered Montana, all at sort of around the legal speed limits. However, Montana had no speed limits, so….

……yes, you guessed it. I had to discover what this LHS would do. So, foot pressing on the accelerator, she moved up quickly from a sedate 130kph, through the 150s, then through the 160s and 170s to 180. She was flying along, so she and we agreed on the name Fly.

But, again, as she got to 180 kliks,….

…..Oh no! The engine cut back and she slacked off to 170kph. I depressed the accelerator again. And again, like the beautiful woman she was, clockwise went the needle until, once again it registered 180kph. Oh, no! The engine cut back and I realised she had a governor preventing her from showing me the full extent of what the lovely 4.2 litre heart under her hood could do.

Despite having a governor, Fly was fast enough for us generally. She did Trojan work for us and we enjoyed the wondrous ability she had of traversing the continent seamlessly from Nova Scotia to Palm Springs, California, with a fully loaded trunk and back seat, a round trip of 17,000 kliks, including detours to visit family in Atlanta or Denver or Vacaville, six times, including one memorable trip along the real Route 66 from Chicago to Los Angeles.

Fly flew other long trips to Montreal and often to the neighbouring province of Prince Edward Island and served us magnificently, whether we were travelling near to or far from home.

But, there always comes the day when, as she grew older, much like us humans, she had aches and pains, some of which cost a lot of money in the auto hospital. And there is no national health program for distraught cars, so we had to pay for the fixing. Then came the day, the very sad day when it was just not worth the money to fix Fly, who seemed to have died overnight, peacefully in her sleep. We phoned the car funeral home; the hearse came, loaded her beautiful silver body on to the back of it and…..

……we teared up as we saw her depart down the driveway, through the trees, and off to car heaven.

Our sadness is ameliorated by knowing that all her parts are donatable to other cars and will live on.

RIP Fly – 1997-2014

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What do you say in an elevator?

I had a friend, Barry, who would stand, while waiting for an elevator, as close to the door as possible without touching it. When the doors opened, the individuals would be greeted by this face staring at them and saying “Good morning, all!”

Of course, he didn’t always get a laugh or a reciprocal greeting, but he never got punched in the face.

So what do you say when riding in an elevator? Do you say , “Good morning,” or “What a great day it is,” or do you just turn around and stare at the floor numbers as you ride up or down? The point is, we should all be taught from childhood that small talk is acceptable, useful, courteous and, often, fun. Yesterday, I was in the Dollar store buying a box of Beef broth My Beloved needed for a sweet potato salad. I chose the line in which just a couple of young woman were buying a stick each of chewing gum. So, I should be out quickly. However, it developed that they were in the line-up really to buy three gold balloons and three other balloons, all of which had to have the helium injected by the cashier. Oh, my! This is going to take a while, I thought. I turned around and faced the man, a Spanish American, and said to him, “I always seem to choose the slowest line!” He responded by saying he did, too. And we started a little conversation. Then a voice from the next cash desk said, “I can take the next person.” As a result of that little friendship we had struck up, the gentleman backed up out of our line, smiled at me, and asked me to go over to the new line, holding back others behind him, before he himself followed me.

It was gracious of the man. But would it have been the same reaction had I not introduced some small talk? I think it may well have been different.

Back to the elevator, so many people are afraid to offer even the smallest bit of small talk. Or, they might feel embarrassed; or they could be in a bad mood. What is small talk? A dictionary definition misses the point, I believe, when it defines it as “polite conversation about unimportant or uncontroversial matters, especially as engaged in on social occasions.” [Emphasis added]  In my opinion, while it is useful on social occasions, it is more necessary in day to day contact with people whom we do not know or those whom we may know from work, but who are not our friends. More than one article has been written about the necessity of small talk in business, particularly in two situations: in interviews for a job; and in negotiations. The person who is able to open up with commenting on a current news event, the traffic hassle getting here, how the Leafs actually won a game, or even the traditional standby, the weather, is going to be more interesting for the interviewer or other party in a negotiation. The interviewer can get a better feel for the person inside the body sitting in front of him or her. The atmosphere will more likely become more friendly and, in the case of a negotiation, who doesn’t prefer to do business with a person you like, a friend, rather than someone other.

Small talk is not a waste of time: it establishes a good first impression and imbues a person with confidence. When you talk about movies, travel or the concert you attended last night, it shows you are a friendly person, one who is easy to talk to or converse with.

So, next time you negotiate a ten million dollar deal, make sure you look the person right in the eye (eye-contact is important) and say you murdered your grandmother last night. It is reported that President Franklin Roosevelt occasionally greeted a guest by saying that and the response was usually a polite nod of the head, until one person actually replied, “She probably had it coming to her!”

So, next time you are in an elevator, look around at all other passengers, speak up and say a big “Hello and good morning!”

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Becoming parents again at age 81

The title of my blog, From Time to Time, has really been overextended, since I see the last time I wrote one was over a year ago – way back in September 2013.

So, what’s on my mind today and why has the spirit suddenly urged me to say something – well, it , my blog, was no longer evitable.

What’s more is that we, My Beloved and I, have been away for three weeks becoming parents of little children again. Oh, dear, we had forgotten how busy a parent’s schedule can be. And after two weeks, we were….well, let’s just say, we honour all parents for what they do.

One of the three sisters, Shae, 9 years old has had a recurrence of a brain tumour and she and her mother, Tara, had to spend over a week in a hospital two hours distance from their home. Dad, Mike, was working, so we stepped in to look after the other two girls, Falin, 10, and Catlyn, 8.

We started the day by being told by their mother to wake the girls at 6.30. In the morning, of course. In the dark morning, before any sun has shown any light. Well, that meant I had to get up at 6.15 to shave and do the usual ablutions one does after trying to get your eyes open. We, My Beloved and I, are notorious for not getting up early, so this was the first challenge. I mean, why would any sane soul get out of a comfy warm bed when you can’t even see where the bathroom is?

That aside, the challenge was met. The first morning, I rose and dutifully awakened the sleeping pair, moved on into the kitchen, went to put the kettle on, only to be obstructed by the guardian of the home, Samson, the big, strong black cat. He kept so close to my legs that until I got him his portion of a can of cat food, I could not safely move. So, having got the kettle going and two tea bags in the tea pot, I then started on lunch for Falin. And asked her and Catlyn what they would like for breakfast. Catlyn chose a corn dog with maple syrup: Falin, a piece of toast with some of that special strawberry-maple preserve we had sent in a Christmas CARE package to them from Nova Scotia ere we had left those foggy shores back in November. I put the jar back in the fridge, only to see Falin go into it and move the jar. On enquiring why she was moving it, she showed me that she had put it further back and some larger jars of marmalade in front of it. “Just to hide it from others,” she said guilefully with a grin on her lovely little face.

So, while Cat was maple syrup dipping and munching on her corn dog (a hot dog wrapped in pancake on a stick) and Fal was enjoying her toast, I had spread some paper towel on the counter, put two slices of bread on it, buttered them well (Fal likes butter as much as I), slavered them in Nutrella before folding them together and wrapping the sandwich up in the paper towel and, finally, slid it into a zip-lock plastic bag. This was her lunch, along with some apple fries, apple cut into french fries shapes, if you can find them in the stores, otherwise apple or pear slices and some  cheesey things in a cayenne-hot powder, a a bottle of cold iced water. Cat gets lunch provided by the school, so no lunch had to be made for her, but Fal likes to sit with her friends and exchange foods. Still, an iced water bottle had to be filled for Cat, too.

Then, “Both of you, go and get your teeth cleaned – and, Falin, are your swimming things ready in your other backpack?” For, after school finishes at 2.30pm….well I am getting ahead of myself.

Next, we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We had over half an hour to wait before i had to drive them to school. Well, might as well get some homework done, kids. So they did. Then, at 7.50 precisely, we drove to school – just a three or four minute drive. There we got out and I talked to Miss Heather. Miss Heather is the 75 or so crossing guard. She rules the intersection with a steel whistle and a stop sign. She gives one sharp blow on the whistle and off she marches, defying all the vehicles wanting to preceed down or up the road. And woe betide you should you place a foot off the sidewalk before she blows the double whistle once she is established like the rock of Gibraltar in the middle of the road.

After a couple of days, Miss Heather and I had something going. She came up to the car window and Falin rolled it down, and told the girls Poppa, the name by which she called me, and I, she said, have a romance going. However, she told the girls, she was much too old to try to get Poppa away from their lovely Gramma. She, I am convinced, is a saint. Over her lifetime, she has looked after 58 foster children and adopted three of them, all three mentally challenged. She empathises with Shae and her family, as her husband died a few years ago of brain cancer.

So, I walked Fal and Cat across the road and into the school yard, where, after a few minutes, they all line up in their respective classes, pledge allegiance, and, some mornings, do ten minutes of physical exercises or dancing.

Then i went home, where My Beloved was preparing our breakfasts. Now, after a couple of days, My Beloved decided to get up at the same time as I did and that led to an expansion of the breakfast menu for the girls. While I was feeding Samson and making the tea, she would be frying an egg and putting it on toast for Fal, who thought this was a great idea, instead of just a piece of toast and jam. Perhaps to mother Tara’s chagrin, as that means she will have to compete with Gramma and fried eggs for Falin, once she is back to running the house.

Then My Beloved and I would go and do some shopping, she having decided what she will cook for dinner. And, of course, she was also doing laundry. And you should see how many clothes the girls dump in the laundry basket. Our five children never produced as much laundry as these two could and did.

On Mondays, a snack for Falin of half a dozen little pizza puffs or a corn dog from the yellow box with a small container of ketchup would be prepared by me or My Beloved, another bottle of iced water drawn and then I drove back to school around 2.20pm  complete with swim gear, chatted with Miss Heather, went into the school yard and waited for the girls. Then, we drove to the open air pool, the temperature being not hot, varying daily around 12C to 20C, dropped Fal off and returned home with Catlyn. She would have had lunch at school, but she probably wanted a snack, too. Then, help was given to her with her homework, which might be math or writing a few sentences on a book she would read to me. When we arrived, she was struggling with her reading, being able to sound out the syllables, but not able to string them together. However, after a lot of reading and coaching by myself, by the time we left, a couple of days ago, she was reading much better. Her mother, Tara, says there was a vast improvement. And I believe there was.

Falin had to be picked up from swimming at five, having been training for an hour and a half. She does that every week day and has achieved Junior Olympic standards in breast, fly and free style. Between Shae’s first operation, almost two years ago, and until just before this second one, she, too, was swimming well. It is her favourite sport and thing to do. Catlyn, has improved tremendously since we last saw her swimming almost a year ago and so all three will be challenging for the Olympic team in the future, we hope.

On returning with Falin from the pool, Gramma, My Beloved, had dinner ready, grace is always said by this family, whether at home or in a restaurant, and after which the kids clear up the table and settle down for more homework, with which they almost invariably need help and at least another half hour of reading with Catlyn. She did very well with a series of books my Dad bought for our children way back in the 1960s and which served our children well.

After the girls went to bed, it was time for Gramma and Grampa to relax with a glass of wine and retire themselves very shortly after.

Tuesday was different – WOW – in that Catlyn went swimming after school, as well as Falin, so snacks had to be prepared prior to picking them up. Sometimes, I would stop and watch Falin for her ninety minutes, after which Catlyn was in the pool for an hour, so we would drive home after 6 pm.

Wednesday was different again – another WOW -, as school finished early at 1.30pm, so they came home, did some homework, before I took Falin back for her lessons at 3.30pm. Catlyn would go also, but only to play in the play area with friends from the swim team.

Thursday was like Tuesday.

And Friday was like Monday.

That’s how the week went. A huge WOW on Saturday, for Grampa, Gamma and the kids did not have to get up early. Mike did go to work, however.

The first Sunday we were alone with the girls, Gramma and Grampa overslept, so we did not get to church.

However, on Tara and Shae coming back from the operation to remove the regrown tumour on a Thursday, we all went to church on the Sunday.

Gramma was still preparing the meals and some laundry, and Grampa still insisted on continuing his duties of school and swimming runs and helping out with homework as well as a big project Falin has to get in before near mid-February. She had chosen to make her project, the River Nile. So we researched its history, animals, people, culture, and geophysics, all of which was of great interest to Grampa.

As for Shae, when we arrived just over three weeks ago, she was obviously having trouble with her right side arm which had become powerless and leg, which was dragging. However, since the tumour was removed, she has been making truly remarkable strides, being able to walk without support. All due, we contend, to the syncretic beliefs and support from hundreds around the world.

And Gramma and Grampa came back to the warmth and sun of Palm Springs and slept really late until after 10 am Friday, which, because we had neither eggs nor bacon, we went to Pinocchio in the Desert for brunch.

And if you want to see what we ate there, go to http://www.tripadvisor.com/members/MelvilleP_13#CITY_TILES in a couple of days and search for it under Palm Springs.

 

 

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“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom” (Ps. 90:12)

In three days I will have attained the age of 79 (I drafted this 7 March 2012).

I don’t often think about my age, but when I do, it is to thank God for all the blessings of this life: My Wonderful Beloved of (in 2 days) 57 years; five exceptional (in my biased parental view) children and their equally exceptional spouses and their 11 children; as good health as one can reasonably expect at this time of one’s life (I have just returned from a few-mile walk to the Dollar Store with a friend); the ability during my working days to have accumulated enough to finance our retirement and to give generously to the church and a number of other charities; and to be living in a country where we can speak our mind and feel safe perambulating the local area – wherever that might be at any given time. There are, of course, many other blessings of this life and I am thankful for all of them.

But, at the same time, the title of this post is one to consider well, whether you are a believer in a supreme being or not, for we are on this earth for a finite sojourn and it is well that we do make the best of being here. Not just for our self-satisfaction, not for the benefit of specific others, but for the benefit of the world and future generations of people. If everyone who has lived on this earth had used his or her talents to the greatest advantage, if they had been generous with love of others and friendly to the environment, can you imagine in what Utopia we would be living today?

So, that did not happen; it is not happening today; and with the knowledge of that had I myself used every minute of my life to the full, I may have made a very small difference to the world in which my grandchildren will live, but I did not use every minute as it could have been used, then does that make me sad or depressed? No, for I, too, am human, as was the psalmist. He was not expecting us to be perfect: he was urging us to live our lives as well as we can, in the full knowledge that we can never be perfect.

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Jason and Locked out

Jason Weber is an entertainer, being a superb pianist with a lovely voice, we have followed in Palm Springs for years and this was only the second and last night Jason would be playing here this year, having moved to Ogunquit, Maine. Last Saturday, My Beloved and I had gone to Studio One 11 (presumably so named because it is right on Highway 111 – one-eleven, get it?) to hear and see Jason. He actually met up with us in the parking lot and welcomed us with hugs.

So, this week, I had invited Brian and Ruth to come with us to hear Jason play and sing at Studio One 11 and last evening, Saturday, saw me driving the four of us to our appointment with Jason. Drinks are very inexpensive at Studio One 11: $3.50 for a decent glass of quaffable wine or a mixed drink. Not only that, there are three free hors d’hoevres, such as mini-pizzas, meat balls, little sausages, small empanadas, or the like. You probably know that I really like Bloody Caesars, but I spice them up with an unusual quantity of Worcester and Tabasco sauces, so that you can almost see the fire in them. I will usually take a virgin one first, sans vodka (they go down so quickly), followed by a real one with vodka. Leo , the bartender met me for the first time a week ago, yet, as soon as he saw me this week,  he dragged out the Worcester and Tabasco bottles and prepared a Ceasar and a Merlot for My Beloved. I guess that’s what makes a good bartender.

After a while of listening to Jason and, occasionally, if we knew the words, singing along, the four of us decided to move on to Lulu’s, an Italian bistro in the heart of downtown Palm Springs, where Brian had reserved a table. Just as well. Yesterday was the Tour de Palm Springs and several thousand cyclists from all over were in town and the restaurants were packed. They obviously had to restore the protein they had lost in the event! Brian and Ruth have been there before, it turned out, and knew another Jason, Jason the manager, who reasonably quickly found us a booth. My Beloved and I shared a plate of calamari, beautifully prepared with a tasty garlic dip, and then she had escargots, which, she declared, had insufficient garlic – and when she does not mop up all of the sauce, you know there was something not quite right. I had a very thin shrimp quesadilla. Ruth was satisfied with a salad, but Brian went for the grilled pork chops, some of which went home with him. Ruth had a glass of Pino Grigio and the other three of us managed to down an Alice White Merlot. Oh, how we struggled to finish it!

All in all, we all declared we had had a good evening of fun and good company.

We parted at our condo and they went on to theirs. Presumably they entered theirs. We didn’t even try, since I discovered that somewhere in all of the places we had been, I must have dropped and lost the keys. Aaaaargh!

What do you do. The last time we accidentally got locked out, our son and his family were here and we able to get his so petite daughter to squeeze through the iron bars protecting the windows on one of the bedrooms and she unlocked the door from the inside. We did not have Taylor with us last evening. The last resort was to drive two and a half hours to San Diego and hope that our landlord had another set of keys there. Of course, we do have a duplicate set, but they were inside the condo. So, approaching ten o’clock, we climbed back into Lava and started to tour the places where we had been or, more specifically, where I would have pulled out the car keys, which would have simultaneously dragged the house keys with them – all unnoticed by any of us. First stop, where, a block away, we had parked for Lulu’s: no luck, the pavement was bare. Next stop, Trader Joe’s, where we had stopped after Studio One 11, just for one item and came out with a number. Again, the parking lot was bare of cars and keys. And it was now closed, so we could not check inside. Across the road saw us back at Studio One 11 and, again, the parking space up against a hedge was bare of keys. One thing left: back into the bar. There was Leo clearing up and he was really surprised to see me again so soon. I could tell by the look in his eyes he was thinking, now what this this dude want now? My Tabasco bottle? My Worcestershire sauce bottle? Has he run out of the stuff at home?

“Leo, did anybody turn in any keys to you tonight by any chance?”

He walked straight away to the end of the bar, reached underneath and pulled out……..yes, my set of condo keys! Mirabile dictu, as Caesar is said to have said: marvellous to relate! Did I thank him and thank the Good Lord profusely! Wow! They must have come out when I dragged my camera out of my pocket and, as they are small, I did not notice.

I returned in triumph to Lava and My Beloved, who was as relieved, or more so, than I. We had visions of having to drive to San Diego, possibly pick up another set, find a hotel and phone Nathan in the morning that we would be unable to sing in the choir today.

No, we drove home, unlocked the door, poured a Merlot for My Beloved and a good sized brandy for me!

Today, we drove to church with the condo keys firmly attached to the car keys.

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Super Bowl XLVII

Super Bowl XLVII???????????????

Biggest darn bunch of malarkey since the USA claimed to win the war against Canada of 1812. Even though we burnt the White House, yet! The only thing super about it is the amount of build-up and hype created around it. A frenzy of articles, commentaries and advertisements.

But, this is America and I must say that when you have a friend like Terry, you tend to get caught up in the hype and expectations, too. Terry likes the big TV screen our landlord installed a couple of years ago and the fact that he can watch the game in High Definition. So, Terry negotiated himself to watch the Big Game last Sunday, 3rd of February. Oh, yes, it was between the winner of the American Football Conference, Baltimore Ravens, and the winner of the National Football Conference, San Francisco 49ers, to decide which team was the champion of the National Football League. It was played in New Orleans and what more could be added to the hype than that great and exciting city?

But, Terry’s bargaining chip to watch the game was (and he volunteered this) to provide all of the snacks and main meal and wine. Well, on getting home around 12.30pm from church yesterday, there was Terry standing in his PJs up on his second-storey balcony with a glass of what looked like Champagne in his hand.

“Are you hungry?”, he asked. “ Not exactly,” My Beloved responded (she, who had already had a good portion of Mexican Bread Pudding in the Church Hall after the service). “Well, would you like some snacks?” “Sure,” we both replied. (I must also admit, or suffer spousal abuse, I had also had a goodly portion of that gooey Mexican thing.)

A few minutes later, Terry, still in his PJs, duly walked through our door (he didn’t break it, it was open) and deposited a container of wantons he had just
made.

IMG_1018 - SMALL

Yes, he had just made them, stuffed with mushrooms, water chestnuts, garlic, ginger, bamboo shoots and soy, and deep fried to a delicate shade of tasty. Very tasty! But it was not yet one o’clock and the game was not to start until half past three, so My Beloved started munching on them while doing financials for the Adult Literacy Group of which she is Treasurer back in Nova Scotia and which was to have a Skype meeting with us Tuesday morning (allowing for the four hour time difference). And so many wantons did he bring. Must have been, including the second batch he brought down, a couple of dozen. Well, that was the end of the financials. I am terribly ashamed, or is it proud, to say that, while we watched Mickelson stroke his way to glory in Phoenix Waste Management PGA Tour, we scoffed the lot.

IMG_1022 - SMALLAt about the end of the golf we switched to the pre-game channel and Terry arrived with a huge bowl of Edamame pods on which we snacked all afternoon (and I finished up along with my cereal and raspberries for breakfast next morning – peculiar combination, but not all mixed in together), the main course of chicken thighs marinated and then cooked in a most delicious sauce of soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, sliced garlic, sliced ginger, chopped green onions, sIMG_1021 - SMALLesame oil and toasted sesame seeds. Served with rice, which Terry also provided, this was outstanding or, as today’s jargon goes, awesome.

My Beloved and I swilled it all down with, initially, some imported English Strongbow apple cider, then she joined Terry with a couple of bottles of white wine he had also brought. After my 12-oz bottle of cider, I stuck to my true and tested home-made Merlot.

Terry is absolutely sure that had any two of the four ‘wrong’ decisions the referees, or zebras, ‘incorrectly’ gave not been awarded, our team would have won.

Who cares that the wrong team won and that our team (being here on the West Coast), the 49ers, lost? And who cares that American football is played on a smaller field than Canadian football, yet it requires four ‘downs’ to move the ball ten yards in order to retain possession, whereas we Canadians seem able to do that with only three ‘downs’. And who cares that the World Cup of baseball involves less than 20 countries? And who cares that the world cup of cricket involves well over a hundred countries. And who cares that the Association Football (soccer) world cup involves over a couple of hundred countries.

Who cares? We didn’t. And don’t. We had a great time with outstanding food, drink and company. And My Beloved and I did not have to do a single thing except sit back, eat, drink and enjoy Beyoncé during the half-time entertainment.

My Beloved did aquasizes with the ladies’ group and afterwards swam some lengths while I swam 80 lengths (one kilometre) Monday morning to try to get some of the added weight off. We care about that.

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Chada Thai Restaurant

Saturday afternoon and it was getting towards dinner time. Neither My Beloved nor I could decide what we were going to prepare for dinner.

If you look at the last post “Recycling and lamb’, which was posted 27 January 2013, you will see I said there that we were going out for Thai. I do not understand what happened, but that was Sunday, yet I am writing now about the previous day, Saturday, 26 Jan 2013. Now, how can that be? Well, it was because I had drafted the Sunday post, but not published it. It’s all about a learning curve, this blogging game, and a learning curve for this old brain is a shallower one than it was fifty years ago.

So, now we are back on track and I am writing today, Tuesday, 29 January 2013, about a visit to Chada Thai Restaurant on Saturday, 26 January 2013.

Although the clouds had crept across the San Jacinto mountains, there were no drops of water descending from them, so My Beloved and I set forth for Chada. Well, I am not exactly correct in saying that, because while we knew where we were going and to which restaurant, we did not know the name of it.

We were shown a table for two as soon as we walked through the door. We are pretty savvy diners, having dined in many countries, but we have rarely dined on Thai fare, so the menu had a certain mystique about it.

Nevertheless, when the Maitre d’ came (whom we believe to be the owner) to get our order, we boldly spouted out “Tom Kah as an appetizer, please,” to which he responded, “Bowl or pot?”. As My Beloved and I looked at each other wonderingly, he said, “Pot – better for you two share.” So he had made the decision for us. And we were, subsequently, delighted he had. However, he had not obtained all the information he needed. “What meat?”, he said. I had no idea what he meant: did he mean what did I want for my main course? Fortunately, My Beloved chimed in with, “Chicken, I think.” Obviously, she had read the menu better than I. So, Mr. Owner went away happy with her answer.

We were sipping our Merlot when he returned with a two-tiered apparatus, into which he plunged     a fire-starter and. lo and behold, flame shot out through the centre of the apparatus, a good 30 centimetres high. Never had either of us seen anything quite so exotic and lovely as a way of serving a soup.

And what was, or is, Tom Kah? A hot and sour coconut milk soup with Image
delightful little straw mushrooms, Thai name Hed Fang, which resemble tiny little helmets, lemongrass and, yes, the chicken pieces. It was delicious! Truly delicious!

Additionally, as our mains, My Beloved chose the lightly breaded calamari, which were lovely and tender with a side of hot sauce, and I chose the crispy catfish, which came with a very tasty mildly spicy red sauce, broccoli and a few discs of carrot. A bowl of steamed rice served well as a foundation for excess sauce from my plate.

We denied ourselves any dessert and the whole came to $55 including $10 tip. A lovely meal and we will return to Chada.

But now, it is time for dinner at here at home in the condo.

เจริญอาหาร
ceriỵ xāh̄ār – Thai for ‘bon appetit!’
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Recycling and lamb

Last evening Terry came and joined us for one of My Beloved’s South Carolina Fish Stews. It has white fish and shrimp and clams and green peppers and onion and garlic and tomatoes and some heat from Tabasco. It is simply delicious. Along with some of her French bread.

Terry brought dessert, rice pudding with raisins and dried cranberries. Very good. He also brought a Sauvignon blanc and a good red (I took the bottle to recycle this morning and cannot remember what it was).

And we finished the evening with a bottle of my Port.

We discussed taking a really big collection of wine bottles to the recycling depot in the morning (today) to collect some cash.

This morning, around ten o’clock, Terry arrived at the door and he and I bundled the bottles into the trunk of his Mercedes. At the recycle depot we discovered that, although they would take the bottles, there was no redemption in California for wine of liquor bottles. Oh, well, project accomplished, Back in Halifax, we get 5 cents for every bottle. Mind you, we pay 10 cents on top of the price at the store: we get 5 cents back at the recycle depot and the other 5 cents go to pay for the process.

Terry suggested we go and get a Bloody Mary. We drove to a favourite haunt of his, where he ordered a Bloody Mary: I asked MaryBeth, for that was the barkeep’s name, if she stocked Clamato juice. Sure, she said. Then, I’ll have a Bloody Caesar, please, I said. Clamato juice has been popular in Canada since Mott’s invented it in 1966, but it has been slow to catch on in the USA, other than in California, where the Mexican influence is large and Mexicans use Clamato juice to make Chelada. So, I am always a happy drinker when I find a bar which stocks Clamato juice.

Sitting at the bar, I had an enjoyable chat with a British couple on their way via Vegas and Palm Springs, to New Zealand. The TV screen was showing Man U vs Fulham and Man U were trouncing Fulham with the great assistance of Rooney, who scored two goals in two minutes while we sat and drank. Another round of Bloody Mary and Caesar and we came home. 

This afternoon, Harold and Helen took us to Costco, where My Beloved and I bought some great-looking lamb chops and a boneless leg of lamb at $5.99/lb. Wow! Back in Halifax, that would run at two or three times that price.

Tonight, we are off to have Thai food. I think. Unless it rains, for it is walking distance. It does not rain very often here, but there has been talk of a shower if the clouds can make it over the San Jacinto mountains.

¡Salud y buen provecho!